


Green

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, F/M, First Time Dom Try, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Porn with too much plot, Things get personal, Wrestle AU: Green Light District, be careful while you play, do your research!, feelings with porn, thirst party saturday, triggers listed inside, wrestlers without the wrestling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:34:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11233947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: Too accommodating, too eager to please, and too ready for a new roommate.[x-posted to Tumblr]Enjoy!





	Green

**Author's Note:**

> !DISCLAIMER!: Hey everyone, anything involving the BDSM scene/community is something that should be properly researched and understood before even attempting to engage in it. Fanfictions DO NOT count as research! This is entirely fabricated and as such may give wrong or misleading information, like any other work of fiction. Stay safe and check your facts!
> 
> !WARNING!: Trigger warning for (light and/or clumsy) Dominant/submissive explorations, (light) bondage (scarves), and allusions to previous abuse.

The first thing you noticed is that he didn’t have a bed. In fact, he didn’t seem to have much of anything. A single tote and a backpack; he was dropped off at your apartment by (you assumed) a friend of his and you watched as he shifted his weight back and forth for a few minutes. _Maybe his friend is going back for his bed_ , you reasoned while unlocking your door. The other side of your brain was already suggesting that you offer to move the couch into his empty room.

 

You shook your head at yourself. Being overly willing to accommodate was what had gotten you into this mess in the first place! Having to put out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist wasn’t the _worst_ outcome, but there were more than enough stories on the internet to justify you being cautious about vetting the potential candidates.

 

Dean Ambrose had been a friend of a friend, the particular friend vouching for him a little more credible than Dean’s own application, which had consisted of a rambling voicemail listing (among many other _spellbinding_ facts) his weight and height, that he loved animals and he made, “ _a mean toaster strudel_.”

 

“ _Ambrose? Yeah I’ve known him for ages. He’s a good guy. Bad childhood. Clean,_ _ **not**_ _neat. More of an ‘organized chaos’ kind of dude, but he doesn’t have a lot to begin with so that’s probably not gonna’ be a problem. Can’t handle slamming doors, so you might wanna’ invest in bumpers or something_.” Seth’s rundown had been brief and to the point, allaying some of the fears you’d had after listening to the entertaining voicemail. “ _I’m impressed he figured out the Internet to the extent that he could even_ _ **find**_ _your ad, honestly. Probably had Ro give him a hand_.”

 

You met with Dean a few times, to show him the apartment and have him sign paperwork. He was _very_ quiet, but you figured once he got used to you that would wear off pretty quick. And if it didn’t, it certainly wouldn’t be the end of your world.

 

Now here he was, standing outside your apartment complex. He looked like he was waiting for something so you finally opened your window and leaned out. “Hey, Dean! C’mon, the door’s unlocked!”

 

He started, looking up and grinning when he saw you. “Sorry, m’ comin’.” He called, swapping the bin to his hip so he could open the main door to the stairwell.

 

He had a sleeping bag.

 

_That_ was his bed.

 

You watched from the doorway in disbelief as Dean spread it on the _floor_ of his new room, smoothing out the wrinkles in the worn nylon with a higher level of care than you anticipated. The bin held a few more items. A sort-of functional-appearing laptop, a towel, a toothbrush…not a lot of things. “Yeah, I kinda’ travel light.” Dean mumbled when you quizzed him on it, obviously uncomfortable. You figured it would be best to not pursue the matter, you really didn’t mean to upset him or anything like that.

 

The sleeping bag was ripped in a few spots, patched with duct tape. You wondered privately how long he’d had it. “Hey, if you don’t have a bed I’m sure we can find a mattress someone is getting rid-“

 

“Nah, did that once. Bedbugs. Infested the place. Itchy nightmare.” Dean cut you off, grimacing. “M’ savin’ up for one. If you see a bedframe though, definitely lemme’ know.”

 

“I’ll keep an eye out.” You promised, your own skin crawling at the notion of _bugs_ in your bed. “Well!” You continued brightly. “I’m not going to normally do this, but I guess since it’s your first night here it’s kind of a special occasion. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

 

“I…uh, y-yeah, I mean if you’re offerin’ I ain’t turning you down. What’s on the menu, can I help prep somethin’?” Dean asked, looking hopeful but wary, strangely.

 

“I dunno’, I’ll have to see what’s in the fridge.” You gestured over your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s see what I can figure out.”

 

…

 

Ambrose stayed quiet. Seth had mentioned slamming doors but it seemed to be more like any loud bang would make him tense up. You did your best to be careful with your old washer and dryer set; the latch of the top-loader was a little finicky and required a firm hand to close.

 

Your primary form of communication with Dean was sticky notes left on the doors of each other’s rooms. You didn’t actually _see_ much of the man; he mentioned having a full time job when you’d spoken about the apartment. He had _crazy_ late hours, sometimes not coming back until two or three in the morning. When you had nothing else to do at your own job, you amused yourself by making guesses at what he might do. _Lion tamer? Nah, maybe a professional wrestler. Or an assassin._

 

You knocked on Dean’s door one afternoon. The two of you had worked out an agreement where you would purchase the groceries and he would kick in a little extra every month. You didn’t like making a shopping list without knowing whether he needed anything, though. He hadn't left any notes for what he _needed_ , of course, but it never hurt to double-check in case he'd forgotten something.

 

“Dean? You home? I’m going to go food shopping. Is there…” You paused as the door opened under your touch, like it hadn’t been closed all the way. “Dean?”

 

The curtains were drawn on the one window, making it somewhat dim in the room. You almost didn’t see him huddled up in the sleeping bag until he moved, making a whining sound as he did.

 

“Dean, I’m sorry to wake you.” You whispered, feeling like a huge jerk as you tiptoed to the side of his sleeping bag. “I’m going shopping, is there anything that you need?” He made another noise, shaking his head. You were concerned at this point, crouching down so you could see him a little better. “Hey, are you okay?” He shook his head again. “What’s wrong, can you tell me? Is there something I can do?” You asked.

 

Dean rolled onto his stomach, a groan accompanying the motion. “M’ not feelin’ so…good. Kinda’ got hurt and I…” He seemed to be having a difficult time drawing breath, his sentences fading in and out. “…I’ll be okay, s’jus’ harder right n…now.”

 

“What happened?” You queried, flinching when he grabbed your shoulder. But he was only using it for the leverage to pull himself upright. He pressed down on the small of his back with his other hand, grunting. There was a bandage there, stark white in the dim light of the room, with violent bruising around the area.

 

“Took a few kidney shots... _hah_ , no big but…pissin’ blood is not a good time.” Dean gritted out. He was covered in clammy sweat, fingers slipping on your skin. “Y’ goin’ shoppin’, g…grab my wallet an’ pick me up some...tater tots? Please?”

 

You were still reeling from the information that he’d been in a _fight_. “Were you jumped or something, do we need to go to the police?” You tried to keep the panic out of your voice.

 

“N-Nah, just work stuff, f…un’nerestimated my opponent. You okay? Y’look a little…little upset.” Dean pointed out.

 

“Jesus Christ Dean this is _not_ the way you react when you’ve been in a fight! How long have you been in here in the dark?” You scolded, confused when he started to snicker.

 

“Shit, I ‘unno. The look on your f…face. I’m fine, honest, promise. Jus’ hungry. I’ve gotten through worse crap than this.” Dean dismissed your worry with a haphazard wink, patting your shoulder. “I’ll tell ya’ if you get me some…some tots. Promise.”

 

“Who says that I even _want_ to know?!” You sputtered.

 

Dean propped himself up against the wall, his expression almost smug. “Everyone _wants_ to know. S’jus’ whether they’ll have the guts to ask.”

 

You shook your head, standing again. “Hell no. I…I had no idea that you did stuff like _that_ for a living. I probably wouldn’t have let you move in here if I’d known that.”

 

The smugness on his face turned into fear and he caught your leg as you headed to the door. “Wait, what? M’sorry I…please wait.” He begged, sounding oddly vulnerable all of a sudden.

 

You knew you could easily pull away, could easily kick him out. No jury would convict you, there was no _way_ what he was doing to bring in the rent was legal. _I would have_ _ **preferred**_ _lion tamer!_

 

“I’m used to people thinkin’ that me…me gettin’ the shit knocked outta’ me is cool and tough. Please don’t go, _hah_ , fuck.” He was somewhat upright at this point, having pushed himself further up the wall into a slouched position. “I know I…shit, I don’t really _like_ doin’ it but the pay is good an’ I’m pretty sure…I got too many loose pieces up top for a regular job. Don’t like talkin’ about it.” Dean’s hand stayed on the small of his back so he could stand. “Too much shit. But you know, I know you know. Y’ flinch jus’ like I do sometimes.”

 

“That is _none_ of your business.” You snapped.

 

“I ain’t sayin’ it is, okay? I’d never…never act like I know what someone else is goin’ through if…I ain’t got all the facts.” He raised his eyes to yours. “Please don’t make me leave. Promise I’ll do…better, if I get hurt I can’t f-ight and then I can’t earn.” He still had a hand on his back, only barely managing to stand. “This last one I got good money off of, s’only reason I agreed to it.”

 

“Do people _bet_ on you or something?”

 

“Yeah, like a dog fight. But less teeth and more fists.” Dean grimaced. “I know it probably seems dumb t’ you. An’ I’m not a big fan of gettin’ pummeled. Nothin’ better than winning though.”

 

“Have you ever gotten seriously injured?” Your brain ran to overtime. If he couldn’t bring in his portion of the rent you’d need to find someone else _fast_. Your landlord wasn’t exactly a lenient guy.

 

Dean seemed hesitant to answer, fidgeting with the pockets on his pajama pants. “I…yeah. Once. Got my arm busted, the guy stuck it between--shit, you don’t need to hear that. Look, unless the pay is damn good and I mean _damn_ …damn good, I turn down stuff I know I’ll get hurt in. I’ve learned. Kinda’. Please just _don’t_ throw me out. I can be more careful, uh, find like some part time… _hah_ , fuck’s _sake_ that hurts. I gotta’ sit, m’sorry.” He apologized shakily, sliding back down the wall. Blue eyes half-lidded, he glanced up at you through his lashes. “I know I ain’t worth much, y’know? I ain’t good at much and I’m kinda’ worthless but I can take an asswhuppin’ and keep going.” He said lamely.

 

“In exchange for your rent I pick up tater tots and keep my mouth shut. Hell of a bargain.” You said wryly. “But I need to know the _second_ you’re hurt to the point where you can’t. Um. Do your job. So I can figure out an alternative method of income.”

 

“Wait, are you letting me stay?” Dean sounded confused. “I thought--”

 

“Don’t make me reconsider this _incredibly_ dumb choice, okay Ambrose?” You grumbled, going to dig for his wallet in his worn jeans. He caught your hand before you could grab it though, and you flinched again.

 

Dean’s face was earnest, his hold careful. “Thank you so much.”

 

“Please just…please _don’t_ do that.” You replied softly, shaking free of his hand. “Don’t touch me, okay? I’m not into the touching without warning.”

 

“Got it. Sorry for touchin’, my bad.” _Why_ was he practically whispering? You weren’t some skittish animal. _Bad childhood_.

 

“It’s okay. I know you aren’t dangerous or anything. It’s just the speed of it mostly. Don’t want to accidentally punch you if you’re not getting paid for it.” You managed to joke, making Dean snort.

 

“Oh yeah, _real_ funny. So glad you find my sufferin’ amusin’.”

 

“I mean, if you were paid by the punches taken you could make a _killing_ off of frustrated women.”

 

“I’ll ask my boss if he’s interested in implementin’ a ladies night.” Dean grinned, wincing when he chuckled. “Ow, fuck. Christ.”

 

…

 

You made a habit out of checking in on Dean after that incident, especially if you hadn’t seen him in a few days. Near as you could tell he was keeping his word, avoiding the worse fights for the ones that paid less but were more likely to _not_ end in broken limbs. Or bloody urine, _that_ was a little more worrisome. Normal, according to Google, but still worrisome.

 

He came in late one night (early in the morning, technically) with his eye blackened and the side of his face marred in a chain-link pattern. “Bad time.” He managed to say, before flopping down over the couch arm beside you. You had thought fainting was reserved more for Southern belles but here was a self-proclaimed street fighter, literally out cold with his head in your lap.

 

“Ambrose?” You called quietly, putting a hand on his head and cringing when you felt a sticky substance at the nape of his neck. Your fingers came away red with blood. “Dean? You can’t sleep here, do I need to bring you to the hospital?” His closeness should have made you uncomfortable. You could still barely handle a hug from Seth. “Dean you’re _bleeding_.”

 

“Yeah.” The word was muffled by your lap. He stirred, propping himself up on his arms. “Sorry, I uh…huh.” He paused, looking at you like he’d seen you for the first time. “Y’know, you got a nice face. Not just like, a pretty face. You got that too. But you got a _nice_ face.” He said finally, his brow furrowing. “Like a _good_ face. A gentle face. Who the fuck hurt you?”

 

The abrupt shift made your breath catch and he seemed to notice, standing back up and stretching his arms out over his head with a groan.

 

“Ah, never mind. Seth said you ain’t much on the talking when it comes to that. Didn’t mean t’ be nosy.” Dean apologized, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. “I mean if you ever feel like talking I’m uh. I’m all ears. But you don’t have to, okay? I get it. I definitely get it.”

 

His eyes were kind and you _really_ couldn’t handle that right now, shoving your laptop further to the side and getting to your feet. “Come on, Ambrose. You probably can’t Band Aid the back of your neck by yourself.” The sight of blood made you _more_ than a little queasy, but something about the idea of Dean getting bloodstains on that dumb sleeping bag wasn’t appealing.

 

“Even if you just get the wrappers off, I can take it from there.” Dean said in the bathroom, scrubbing at the back of his neck with a (hopefully clean) washcloth. “It’s the wrappers that end me, I always fuck ‘em up and rip the Band Aids.”

 

“You got it.” Relieved that your role was an outlying one, you sat down on the edge of the tub and tore the paper off a few bandages.

 

“Thanks for not losing your mind when I plopped down on you. I know you don’t do the touchin’.” Dean said after a few minutes of silence had gone by. “I don’t mean for…I mean, not like losin’ your mind, but more for bein’ able to handle it. Done good. How long has it been since…uh, whatever happened?”

 

“Around three months.” You bit your lip, handing him a Band Aid. “It was a guy living here. Knew him from high school.”

 

“Uh oh.” You looked up, worried, but Dean was watching you in the mirror with a resigned expression. “Can you talk about it?”

 

“It’s a mess.”

 

“That’s not what I asked. _Have_ you talked with anyone about it?”

 

“Seth knows.”

 

“So no.”

 

“The last thing anyone else needs is more problems. I only told Seth because he was confused.” You shrugged. “It’s not really all that life-changing.”

 

Dean maintained eye contact via the mirror, wincing as he tacked Band Aids on the nape of his neck. Despite his battered appearance and almost certain exhaustion, he seemed to be waiting patiently for you to start talking.

 

You sighed heavily. “I’m too eager to please.”

 

“You got _that_ right. Grabbin’ me tater tots n’ shit. I’m a grown ass man, make me pick up my own tots!” Dean scolded, getting you to snort.

 

“I mean to a fault, just way too accommodating. I’ll give the ‘rent jar incident’ as an example.”

 

“Rent jar… _incident?_ ”

 

“When I had this guy living here, I would put my portion of the rent in a jar on my dresser. Also anything I had extra, loose change, that kind of thing. And I would count it every time I put something in, write it down on a piece of paper in the jar.” Your brow furrowed. “After a while though, things stopped adding up. My numbers kept coming back messed up, stuff went missing in bigger and bigger chunks. I thought I was going nuts. Like maybe I was counting wrong, maybe I was forgetting a number when I added things. I was so used to blaming _myself_ if something went stupid.” You realized you were twisting your hands back and forth. “And then it got to the point where I couldn’t make rent.”

 

“Oh.” Dean said softly.

 

“He said he would cover it. ‘On one condition’. What a smart person would have done is kicked him the fuck out.” You muttered angrily. “He had been stealing from me for months, but of course I didn’t figure _that_ out until after the fact. Until after he left without saying a word, left me high and dry in this apartment. I’m so willing to dismiss bullshit, so eager to believe the best in people is all that there is. I should say, I _was_ willing. Not so much anymore.”

 

“Shit, you guys had _that_ kinda’ arrangement? No wonder y’ flinch. I take it he was a, ‘ _where I want it, when I want it_ ’ kinda’ asshole?” Dean growled. You were surprised at his reaction. Seth had pitied you, had tried to hug you and stroke your hair. But you didn’t want that.

 

“Yeah, pretty much.” You didn’t want that at all. You wanted someone who would get _furious_ , who would be _angry_ about what had happened. Because it wasn’t something to feel sad and forlorn about. The guy hadn’t been worth it to begin with. You could be angry with yourself for being so _dumb_ , for being so blinded by old friendships that you convinced yourself it wasn’t just for the rent.

 

And here was Dean, wringing the washcloth in his hands like he was fit to tear it apart. Like he was _livid_. “That ain’t fuckin’ right.” He said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care who the hell you are. It ain’t fuckin’ right to cause problems jus’ so you can come in and pretend to be a goddamn savior. _That_ shit frosts me like a motherfucker.”

 

“I’m glad at least one person is upset about it. Instead of offering me a damn hug and a pat on the head.” You grumbled.

 

“Well I mean, I get that. Rollins probably didn’t know what the hell else to do.” Dean reasoned. “He’s kind of a baby sometimes. Did you keep tabs on this guy?”

 

“No. I’ve done my best to forget that he exists.” And you _had_ , you really had. Disposing of what he left behind, cleaning his room from ceiling to floor...doing it all with this feeling that maybe if you scrubbed hard enough, you could dismiss the memories that dug into the walls. The way he would smile at you, the way he’d quietly informed you that he was your only option. “He never promised me anything and the fact that I didn’t _expect_ him to, yet expected him to stay, kind of brands me as the idiot in this situation.” You admitted.

 

“ _Hell_ no, don’t say that. Look, you ain’t kicked my ass out. I’m never takin’ advantage of you like that guy did an’ I’m _definitely_ not gonna’ stand by if someone else tries to. That’s low shit, so fuckin’ low.” Dean turned to face you, his expression serious. “I won’t let that happen again. Not to you, okay? You’ve been more than decent about me. I won’t let some shit happen to you.”

 

“And in exchange?” You couldn’t help asking, narrowing your eyes.

 

“This one’s on me, doll. Never again.”

 

…

 

Someone offering you something for nothing, even something as inconsequential as a _promise_ of protection, was decidedly foreign. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept waiting for the instatement of requirements to return in full force.

 

Dean, however, remained agreeable. He may have even become more friendly. And you had to admit that sharing your apartment with him was not the worst scenario you’d been in by far.

 

‘Brewsday’ (or ‘Bruiseday’, depending on how rough his fight had been that night) slowly became a weekly ritual, the two of you ending up sprawled out on the couch nursing beers (as well as Dean’s wounds) and watching terrible movies every Tuesday night. Wednesdays seemed to be a shared day off, though Dean was occasionally up and out before you. You took to going food and essentials shopping on Wednesdays. It definitely _wasn’t_ because Dean also had the day off and you enjoyed the company and help carrying the groceries back to the apartment. Definitely not.

 

But it was one such Wednesday that you finally had to invoke that promise he had made.

 

“We need cereal, six aisles that way.” You said, pointing and then looking back down at your list. You’d been saving up a little extra here and there, mostly to justify buying something a little fancier for dinner. You couldn’t pick out ingredients with Dean standing over you, though. You weren’t sure _when_ it had turned into a surprise, but apparently dinner was _officially_ a surprise and you didn’t want him to ruin it.

 

Dean nodded, taking off in the direction you’d indicated. Despite coming to the store at least once every two weeks he still had yet to master the layout of the place. Which you were _hoping_ would work to your benefit in this instance. You hummed idly along to the pop music playing over the PA system, searching the produce area for a decent-looking head of lettuce.

 

A finger tapped your shoulder and you gestured down at the cart, not bothering to turn around. “In there, thanks. Can you find-”

 

“It’s been a while. Still as bossy as ever, I see.”

 

You froze. _Oh no_.

 

Behind you, that low laugh crept uneasily up your spine. “You’re _also_ just as pretty as I remember. I like what you did with your hair.”

 

“Thank you.” You answered automatically, turning to face the young man who had made your life a living _hell_. “Now how about you stay away from me.”

 

“Ah, I seem to remember you singing a different tune right after I left, _babe_.” A hand cupped your chin and tipped your face up. “What was it you said? ‘ _I thought if I was good enough, you would stay_ ’, sound familiar?” His tone was gently chiding, as though he was reprimanding a small child. You swallowed hard and he obviously felt the motion, if his slow smile was any indicator.

 

_Dean doesn’t smile like that_. Why on _earth_ that thought came to you at that moment, you would never know. But you clung to it as your old roommate pressed closer, pinning you to the shelves behind you. _Dean’s smile is quick, dimples in his cheeks. Brief, like sun through the clouds. His eyes light up and-_

 

“ _Dean!_ ” You surprised yourself _and_ the man in front of you with your sudden yell. There was a loud _crash_ a few aisles down, then the hasty squeak of running boots on the linoleum flooring.

 

Dean rounded the corner with a nondescript box of cereal in his hands, looking more than a little frantic. His eyes widened as he took in the sight in front of him. He obviously knew _exactly_ what was going on. You wanted to sigh in relief at how quickly he picked up on the situation.

 

Your old roommate started laughing again and you cringed. “You’ve got to be kidding me with this, babe. You already found someone else to take my place, huh?”

 

“You’d need to have _had_ a place in order for me to take it. You alright, doll?” Dean asked.

 

You opened your mouth to answer, but your old roommate was faster. “No no, you and _I_ are talking right now buddy. They aren’t part of this.”

 

“The second you put your hands on them you _made_ them part of this.” Dean snarled. “I ain’t brawlin’ in a damn grocery store. You have the option to walk away, _buddy_.”

 

“Near as I can tell I hold all the cards here, so-”

 

“You do _not_ want to go down this road.” Dean warned. “You have no idea who the hell you’re tangling with and you’re gonna’ be in a world of hurt if you don’t _let them go_.”

 

“You don’t _scare_ me.” Your old roommate seemed to be getting impatient, his grip tightening on your jacket.

 

Dean shrugged. “Your funeral.” He took your arm, pulling you closer to him. “This is startin’ to look a little suspicious, wouldn’t you say?” He asked, tilting his head up to look at one of the many cameras in the ceiling. “Tussle in the produce department might arouse a police response. You _sure_ you want to do this?”

 

“I know what you’re doing, it’s not going to work.” Your ex-roommate sputtered.

 

“Wanna’ bet? Buddy, this is my goddamn friend, my _partner_ right here. They gave me a roof over my head when no one else would or could. They feed me, take care of me, and they _also_ told me about what you did. All the shitty tricks you pulled and how you left.” Dean wrapped an arm around your shoulders, all but tucking you into his side. “I told them I would make sure no shit like _you_ would ever happen again.”

 

“You’re crazy!” The other man scoffed.

 

Dean went dead still beside you. “What the fuck did you just say.” His voice had dropped to a hoarse rasp. You got the feeling that _maybe_ a line had been crossed.

 

“You are. _Crazy!_ Certifiable, a _lunatic_ for believing anything that they-” He didn’t get to finish as Dean lashed out, right hand catching his shoulder to haul him close in a one-armed hug and the left gripping his groin with _purpose_. Your old roommate made a choking noise.

 

“Let me make one thing real clear, _buddy_.” Dean hissed through his teeth. “You are one hundred percent correct there. Signed and sealed. So why the _fuck_ would you whack the hornet’s nest? You think you can win this fight? Maybe before. What about now, with your goddamn _balls_ in a vise?” He twisted his hand to drive his point home and the other man whimpered pitifully. “I already told you to walk away. Now, I’m gonna’ tell you to _run_. You have a ten-second head start if you can move. Hope I didn’t tear anything loose.” With that, Dean released him.

 

Your old roommate immediately dropped like Dean had been the only thing holding him up, and Dean turned on his heel to face you with a tight grin on his face. “Got the cereal, doll!” He said, widening his eyes as if to say _play along!_ while he took your arm and led you back to the cart. “Do we need anything else?”

 

“S-S-Salad. We needed…salad. Was going to make something special.” Your brain was only half-onboard, all you could see was your ex-roommate laid out on the ground as easy as you please.

 

Simple. No mess, no fuss. It was almost disappointing in a way.

 

Dean insisted on carrying the bulk of the groceries home, joking, “ _I’m the ass, aren’t I?_ ”. The two of you walked the short distance in silence. You didn’t _mean_ to be so quiet, you were just thinking. Hard.

 

“Did I make you uncomfortable or somethin’?” Dean asked awkwardly after all the groceries were stowed and you had begun making supper. “I didn’t want to, wasn’t what I was going for.”

 

“It’s not you.” Your smile was weak. “It was just a shock, is all. Still trying to process it.”

 

He nodded, seeming satisfied. “Whatcha’ making, anyway?”

 

“Strawberry salad. I guess you can have some too. You _were_ very brave.” You teased.

 

Dean shook his head. “Hey, I already _told_ you. Not in exchange for anythin’. You dealt with enough shit.”

 

“How about in return for carrying like, ninety-five percent of the groceries home?” You offered, raising an eyebrow. “Please, have dinner with me? I mean unless you have other plans, have to head off to the Mrs. Ambrose?”

 

Dean made a strange sound in his throat. “Yeah?” He said finally, his voice so quiet it seemed like he was talking to himself. His whole body had gone tight again, like it had earlier when he’d been called _crazy_. Which had you _very_ curious. He shook his shoulders after a minute, huffing out a quick breath and giving you a smile. “Alright. In return for the pack mule duty.”

 

You couldn’t help smiling back, nodding.

 

Later that evening while the two of you were watching television, Dean dropped an absent-minded kiss on the top of your head.

 

…

 

The Bruiseday/Brewsday started like all the others. Dean came fumbling in around eleven, his left wrist swollen and purple. You’d had a rotten day at work yourself, just opening your first bottle as Dean arrived. Wordlessly you passed him the beer and he nodded his thanks.

 

The two of you sat quietly at the kitchen table, drinking. The silence was companionable and you hated to break it, but...“Man, I can’t seem to do _anything_ fucking right in that place!”

 

“What happened today?” Dean grunted, shifting the bag of frozen blueberries he’d laid over his wrist.

 

You growled, getting to your feet so you could pace. “I always have so much that needs to be taken care of, but it’s just me doing it! I’m a one person department, I guess. I have all this work dumped on me and I know I sound like a little kid right now but it’s _not fair_ , dammit. I’m tired of it. So tired. I wish I had a job like yours!” You said impulsively. “Where I fight somebody outright and maybe win. At least then it would be a fair fight, people would know what they were in for!”

 

Dean laughed, tipping his bottle towards you. “You seriously think we fight fair? Doll we are _up front_ about the fact that we fight as dirty as possible. Half the appeal of watchin’ an’ bettin’, I suppose.” He shrugged. “When I busted my arm it wasn’t even _during_ the fight. It was afterwards. I won, we shook hands, then he dragged my carcass to the door and slammed my forearm in it until I passed the fuck out.” Dean traced the prominent white line on his right arm. “Doc that casted me said it was a miracle I still had the feelin’ in it. And holy _shit_ , did I have the feelin’ in it.” His grin was rueful. “I don’t think you’d wanna’ trade with me.”

 

“C’mon, you don’t think I could take it? I could kick the ass of every guy that _ever_ hurt you! It would be awesome.” You flopped back down in the kitchen chair. “ _Awesome_.” You repeated firmly.

 

Ambrose shook his head. “You’re somethin’ else. What if we had to fight each other?”

 

“A draw, obviously.” You drained your bottle and took a fresh one from the six pack. “We would be evenly matched, what with your veteran skill and my _incredible_ ability to read your tells.”

 

“My _tells?_ Now you’re talkin’ nonsense. I don’t have tells.” Dean protested. “I’m unpredictable and fuckin’ nuts or whatever.”

 

“You do things like focus on people’s shoulders instead of their face. You’re waiting for them to make the first move, the twitch of muscle that indicates they’re just _thinking_ about it.” You replied smugly, watching as Dean’s eyes widened. “What do _you_ think would happen if we fought?”

 

“I’d fuckin’ pin you, immobilize you with my body. I ain’t tryin’ to hurt you or anythin’.” He muttered, sounding almost sulky as he popped the cap off his next beer.

 

“I think you just want me under you.” You teased.

 

“Well yeah, no shit. I’m a fuckin’ _dude_ , ain’t I?” Dean shot back, smirking. “Havin’ someone at your mercy is half the fun of the damn fight.” His smirk faded. “Only then though. I’m not much for…I mean I’ve _thought_ about it, obviously, but I never did anythin’ _during_.”

 

“'During’?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Yeah, y’know, _during_. Sex. D-During sex.” Dean’s stammer was absolutely precious. “I know it’s a thing, I’ve seen pictures an’ stuff.”

 

“Not your cup of tea? Or you’ve never had anyone willing to let you try?” You were genuinely curious, putting down your beer and leaning in a little. It was incredibly rare that Dean did so much as make a dirty joke in your presence, so this was _quite_ the turn of events. You watched him lick his lips and you suddenly realized he was _nervous_. “Ambrose, I promise what you tell me won’t leave this area, okay? Just interested is all.”

 

Now it was Dean’s turn to get to his feet. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and then sighed heavily. “I mean, there’s shit for everybody out there, right? I…it’s hard to find answers sometimes, in the mess of people.” He began cryptically. “I see stuff and I think like, ‘ _oh those are some cool knots_ ’ or ‘ _I wonder why people like that_ ’. But I fight in a fuckin’ _underground ring_ , surrounded by the shit-stains of humanity bettin’ against me. What the hell in common do I have with anybody? Except the _deeper_ ones, y’know.” He grimaced. “The guys who get off on gettin’ beat up, or beatin’ up their uh…fuck, sub, that’s the word.”

 

“Well that’s a _little_ different from what you do, I think. The whole dominant or submissive thing is a consensual act, not something you _have_ to do to earn your keep.” You could barely believe you were having this conversation, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I mean, I’m more than willing to help if you need to figure some lighter things out. I don’t mind getting tied up.” _Whoa, easy there! No need to dump your kinks on the poor guy!_ You scolded yourself, blushing at the startled look Ambrose leveled at you. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be creepy. My bad.” You apologized.

 

“Nah, no one’s ever really wanted to talk open about this stuff with me before.” He admitted, running a hand through his hair. “Kinda’ at a loss. You like…yeah? What, with rope or…?”

 

“Um, the scarves are better, I think. They don’t chafe. I’ve only done it a few times.” You bit your lip. “They look nicer too. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures.”

 

Dean simply inclined his head.

 

“I mean it’s pretty tame, all things considered, I know. I just like it. I’m helpless but it’s more the _concept_ of it, I guess? The surrender of control.” You shrugged, feeling self-conscious.

 

“Yeah?” Dean sounded a little breathless. “And what, you just get fucked or do you get off on bein’ helpless more? Like someone usin’ you or something?”

 

“More like I’m being taken care of.” You corrected gently. “I _am_ helpless, and the person in charge knows my needs better than I do. That’s the idea, anyway. If there’s proper discussion beforehand though, _and_ if I consent to the scene, I will let my body be used for someone else’s pleasure. This one time I was tied up all pretty, like a present, and I was tit-fucked and it was just…” You trailed off, shivering at the pleasant memory.

 

“Tit-fucked, huh?”

 

“It was a little ridiculous at first, I couldn’t really move so the guy had to hold my breasts. But once we figured it out, oh _wow_.” You snickered. “At least _that_ guy had a sense of humor. We had quite the laugh while he untied me.”

 

“I feel like that’d be an important part of any engagement.” Dean said. “D’you get off on like...being called _bad_ or any of that shit?”

 

“Not so much the bad stuff. I’m...when I’m in that mindset I’ll do just about anything if you call me good, though.”

 

“Ah.”

 

You came back to reality again at his sound of acknowledgment. “Oh my gosh I'm _so_ sorry, I definitely didn't mean to spill all of that.” You panicked a bit, concerned that you'd made him uncomfortable or at the very _least_ that you'd said too much. “I guess it's like you said, no one really talks about this kind of thing. So I vomited all this information at you. Um. Use it well?” You finished weakly. 

 

“I plan on it.” Dean murmured, putting the blueberries back in the freezer and rotating his wrist experimentally. “Show me.”

 

“What?”

 

“I _said_ , show me.” He looked deadly serious. “If the offer is still on the table, of course. An' only if you trust me.”

 

“O-Oh.” Your voice petered out. “You want to...?”

 

“I like keepin' you safe. Probably isn't much different than that, y'know?”

 

You stood up, wiping your hands off on the skirt of your dress. “We'll see, I guess.”

 

“Can I kiss you? Do you do that kinda' stuff or is it strictly tie-ups for you? I need to know before I get mouthy.”

 

“Oh yeah, kissing is f--” You lost track of what you were saying when Dean pulled you into his arms and kissed you until your knees went weak. Teeth nipped at your lower lip and his tongue licked into your mouth as you gasped.

 

“Green?” He asked after he pulled back, searching your face worriedly. You stared up at him in a daze, slowly running your own tongue around your mouth to catch the taste of him better. “Doll, I need an answer or this is gonna' be over real quick.” Dean said softly. “Green, yellow or red?”

 

“Fuck, uh, green. _Why_ didn't you tell me you were such a good kisser?” You asked, watching him shrug.

 

“No one's ever really indicated one way or another. Dunno'.” He ran a hand through his hair again. “ _Shit_ you taste good.”

 

“Not too bad yourself, Ambrose. Christ.” The two of you looked at each other for a tense moment before Dean grunted and took your hand.

 

“Alright doll, living room or your bedroom? I doubt you want to wrangle in my oh so cozy sleeping bag.”

 

“My room, c'mon.” You almost felt dumb, leading _him_ , but he indicated that you should and so you did, pushing the door of your room open.

 

“Have you ever tied anyone else up? Or is it just you gettin' tied up?” Dean asked curiously.

 

“I'm not really...I worry that people wouldn't take me seriously.” You gestured at your dresser, your scarf collection out on full display. You liked to keep everything folded nicely.

 

“Shit, ain't _you_ just the damn Boy Scout. Any of them easier to untie? In case I knot too tight. Still new here.” Dean reiterated, unfolding the two scarves you pointed to. “I won't do anythin' fancy, not sure I'd be able to get you outta' some monkey-fist nonsense.” His hands were steady as he carefully wound the silk around your wrists, taking the time to slip a finger between your skin and the cloth to make sure there was enough room. 

 

“Look at you! It's like you know what you're doing.” You teased.

 

“Hey, I told you I did some research.” Dean took a deep breath. “ An' you're gonna' be _good_ for me if I do this, right?” 

 

“Yes, absolutely.” It had been so long since you'd gotten to play your role. You were _incredibly_ glad you'd opted for your comfortable sundress, it made you feel more delicate, made it easier for you to assume your headspace. “If you take care of me, I'll be _so_ good.”

 

“Oh Jesus.” Dean seemed flustered, his hands stilling for a second. “You use the green-yellow-red system, yeah? Let me know if I'm goofing something up or if you're not into it.”

 

“Hey, don't be scared, okay?” You smiled up at him. “You can't hurt me.”

 

“I dunno'. I don't _want_ to, that's for sure.”

 

“You won't. You want to take care of me. I'm pretty and breakable and you're so careful with me already.”

 

“Fuck's sake, you _are_ pretty. So fucking pretty. I love _this_.” Dean tugged at the skirt of your dress. “I love when you wear stuff like this, when we're just hangin' out on the couch and you're all relaxed up against me.”

 

“You should have said something! I would have worn more of my cute things if I knew they pleased you.”

 

“Fucking _shit_ , what a good doll you are. Dressin' like I want you to.” Dean seemed to be more at ease just talking and rubbing his hands over your bare shoulders. “Every once in a while. It's gotta' be special. Can't be _too_ accommodatin' of me.”

 

“Of course.” You agreed.

 

“You are just... _Jesus_ , I can't get over you. I'd let you tie me up in a heartbeat, doll.” He confessed, pressing his forehead to your own. “You oughta' try sometime. Can I...what are you lookin' for tonight, what can I do for you? What's your need?” He continued, fingers tracing the design of your dress over your stomach. “How do I make you feel good?”

 

“The talking is actually really nice. I um...” You paused with a nervous giggle. You weren't used to so many questions! “Would you eat me out, if...if you're comfortable with it?”

 

“Oh my _God_.” Dean groaned and you knew you'd suggested the right thing. “Fuck, you ask so fuckin' nice. M'gonna'-” His sentence broke when you nuzzled your face into his neck, snuggling in tight to him and rolling your hips. “Good _fuckin'_ \--Jesus. Are your hands enough or should I tie you to the headboard?”

 

“I wouldn't _mind_ it.”

 

“You've fuckin' got it.” Ambrose laid you back on the bed and you scooted up so he could secure you properly. “I dunno' whether I'll be any good at this. Pretty sure I can't deny you jack shit.”

 

“Hey, everyone has to start somewhere. You're doing just fine.” You encouraged.

 

“ _Shit_ , okay, alright.” He looked down at you impassively for a moment before stripping off his shirt. “I'll...move your little skirt up an' fuckin' tug these panties off.” Narrating was apparently a favorite, and you _certainly_ weren't complaining as his motions matched his words. “Gotta' lay on my belly so I can fuckin'...yeah, that's right, open up those legs for me, doll.” Dean encouraged, his voice warm and rough and _good_. One large hand cupped your pubic mound and the other rested on your thigh, soothing the quivering skin there. “You're so _wet_ for me already. I wonder if I could...” Dean lowered his eyes, making you squirm. “God, look at you fuckin' _drip_.”

 

“Please?” You managed to say, whimpering when he hungrily licked up the trail of slick that had been making its way down your thigh. “Please, please sir, I-”

 

“ _Sir?_ ” Dean _growled_ , sounding incredibly satisfied and rewarding you with a flat-tongued stroke over your pussy. “S' good shit. Hold still for me, doll.” It had been _so_ long since someone had taken care of you this attentively. Dean was a natural, hands holding you steady as he worked you into a writhing mess with his mouth and praise. Gentle orders were issued and you followed them to the letter, eager for more, eager to be good for him. 

 

“Can I fuck you?” He asked finally, quickly diving back in and rolling his tongue around your clit in tender little circles before you could formulate a response. “Please, _may_ I fuck you?” His voice was almost nothing, a whisper against your skin. “Wanna' make you feel good, wanna' make you come on my cock, doll. I know we didn't discuss the fuckin' beforehand. Color?”

 

“Green, green, green, _please_ - _!_ ” You begged, wiggling your body and canting your hips hungrily up towards his face. 

 

“Oh God, I'm gonna' have to work on this.” Dean propped himself up on his arms, crawling over you until he reached your mouth. When he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Heya' doll. Miss me?” He grinned. “Hands okay? Nothin' numb or tinglin', right?”

 

You were pretty sure you weren't  _exactly_ at your sexiest, your dress pulled up and wrinkled around your waist and your skin shiny with sweat and  _want_ . But you took a second to ground yourself, mentally checking all your extremities. “M' okay, y-yeah.” You panted. “Please sir,  _please_ fuck me?”

 

Dean looked like a deer caught in the headlights, his whole body going still again. “You say please an' shit, beg for me so nice.” He murmured, sounding a little melancholy. “Make me feel like I'm worth it. S'dangerous.”

 

“You _are_ worth it!” You protested, whining when he moved back to take off his pants. “You're being careful with me, you're making me feel good. Why wouldn't you be worth it?”

 

Dean just shrugged, yanking down his boxers.

 

“Hey, Dean.” You gentled your tone, waiting until he looked back at you. “Untie me, please?”

 

He seemed confused but obeyed immediately, practically  _lunging_ up the bed to struggle with his knots. They had tightened somewhat from all your squirming. “Color? Y'okay?”

 

“Green.” You said firmly. “I just wanted to touch you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because.” Dean flinched as you reached out, doing his best to mask it. Your heart ached because you _knew_ that feeling, the wariness that was always there _just_ under the surface. Your body thrummed with _want_ and you felt almost like you should be crying, emotions running hot. “Shh, just me.” You soothed, giving him a smile. “Just me, Dean.”

 

His name seemed to snap him back into focus. Dean's kisses were needy, long and urgent with tongue and teeth clicking against your own. The whole while he mumbled praise into your mouth, whispering  _you're beautiful perfect too good for me_ in a crooning cadence that had you arching your back. “Color?” He asked finally, his cock sliding up and down on your thigh as he shifted his weight. You were pretty sure the scene was over but you figured you could talk about that afterwards.

 

“Green. Please. Green, yes, please.” You pleaded disjointedly, your arms slung around his neck. “ _Please_.”  His answer wasn't verbal but physical, his cock pressing to the entrance of your pussy. You rolled your hips greedily, inviting, _wanting_ with every fiber of your existence. The first push of his cock into you made you moan, a drawn-out sound that Dean echoed.

 

“ _Christ_ doll, not fair, oh my fuckin' _God_.” He gasped, clumsily groping one of your breasts through your sundress. “It's not even fair-!” 

 

“Dean _please_ fuck me, I need it, I need it, _please!_ ” You didn't even care that you were begging. You knew that was what _he_ needed, the constant affirmation of the fact that _yes I want this yes I want_ _ **you**_.  Dean buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, hands tight on your hips as he mercilessly fucked into you. His pelvis ground against your clit with every thrust, the stimulation white hot and _**yes**_ _I want_ _ **you!**_

 

“You're so fuckin' _tight_ so fuckin' _pretty_ just wanna' fuckin' _explode_ in you fuckin' make you _take_ all of me, I'm not fuckin' good at this shit yet, m' sorry-” Dean rambled in your ear. “Coming, I'm coming, I can't--shit, fuck, hang on, gotta'-” He slid a hand between the two of you and you rocked up against the heel of his palm, sharp bursts that just hilted his cock in you and made him press the right spots _everywhere_. “Yeah that's it, _that's_ it, you shake around _me_ , you come on _me_.” Dean _ordered_ and you obeyed, your orgasm a relief and a thrill all in one as you threw your head back and came with a cry of his name. His breath hitched, sounding almost like a sob.

 

Dean quickly pulled out, shoving your sundress up even higher and then coming on your stomach. He kept his head down, breathing hard.

 

“Sorry.” He said finally. “Not so good at this, I guess.”

 

“Hey, for a first timer, I think you did pretty good!” You encouraged, cupping his chin and making him look up at you. “This doesn't need to _mean_ anything, okay? Unless you want it to. And it never needs to happen again if it makes you uncomfortable. Got it?”

 

“Yeah. I uh...was it good for you, at least? Because holy shit.” Dean said weakly. “Holy fucking shit.”

 

“Green all the way, Ambrose. Also, since you humored me tonight, any time you want me to tie _you_ up, just say the word.” You smiled up at him and he grinned back (to your private relief.) You weren't sure whether you'd pushed too far.

 

“Thanks. For everythin', you know? Taking me in, and...well, just everythin'.” Dean said quietly after the two of you got cleaned up. He held you close, resting your head on his chest. His voice was soft again, like he thought you were asleep. “I've never really felt like I was worth much til' you. So thanks.” His fingers twined through your own. “I'll get better for you. I promise. S'least I can do.”

 


End file.
